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Updated: June 16, 2025
The relationship between Zinganna and Salgath Trod hadn't been purely business with her; there had been some real affection. He told her what had happened, and when he reached the point at which Salgath Trod had called Tortha Karf to confess complicity in the slave trade, her lips tightened and she nodded. "I was afraid it was something like that," she said.
There existed between himself and his wife a sort of vague, semitelepathic, rapport; they had never been able to transmit definite and exact thoughts, but they could clearly prehend one another's feelings and emotions. He was conscious, now, of Dalla's sympathy for the Proletarian girl. "Zinganna, I'm going to tell you something that is being kept from the public," he said.
"I hope they don't," Vall said to Tortha Karf. "Really, though, I doubt if they do. This is their chance to pick up a lot of slaves cheaply; the Croutha are too busy to bother haggling. I'm going through to PolTerm, now; when Dalla and Zinganna get through, tell them to join me there." On Police Terminal, he found Kostran Galth, the agent who had been selected to impersonate Salgath Trod.
On the third or fourth bar, Dalla woke and sat up, waking Zinganna, and blinked at him perplexedly. "What time is it?" she asked. "About 1245," he told her. "Ohhh! We just got to sleep," she said. "We're both bushed!" "You had a hard time. Feel all right after your narco-hyp, Zinganna?" "It wasn't so bad, and I had a nice sleep. And Dalla ... Dr. Hadron, I mean " "Dalla," Vall's wife corrected.
"Remember what I told you?" "Dalla, then," Zinganna smiled. "Dalla gave me some hypno-treatment, too. I don't feel so badly about Trod, any more." "Well, look, Zinganna. We're going to have a man impersonate Councilman Salgath on a telecast. The cosmeticians are making him over now. Would you find it too painful to meet him, and talk to him?" "No, I wouldn't mind.
"Why, thank you, Trod!" She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him enthusiastically. "I'll go tell them at once." "And have a good time, Zinganna; have the best time you possibly can," he told her, embracing and kissing her. "Now, get out of here; I have to keep my mind on business." When she had gone, he finished his drink and poured another. He drew and checked his needler.
"And the phone has a whisper mouthpiece; you can call out without worrying about your message getting into Zinganna's subconscious. Well, I'll see you when you're through; you bring Zinganna to Police Terminal; I'll probably be there." He went out, closing the door behind him, and went down the hall, meeting the officer who had taken charge of the butler and housemaid.
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